"Alright," White Ghost said, setting his cup down. "You didn't come up here just to scold your staff. What do you want from me, Shyarly?"
"You really are a sharp human," Shyarly replied, not surprised in the least.
She tapped ash from her pipe and met his gaze head-on.
"I did a reading," she said quietly. "Of Fishman Island's future. Want to guess what I saw?"
White Ghost swirled the coffee in his cup once, then took a sip.
"You sure you want me to say it out loud?" he asked.
Shyarly's eyes widened slightly.
"So you do know," she murmured. "What are you, exactly?"
White Ghost shook his head.
"I don't know that much," he said. "Think of me as someone who knows a few things he shouldn't."
He thought for a moment, then added with a small crooked smile:
"Or maybe… I did come from the future. Who knows?"
"You know about Princess Shirahoshi's special identity, don't you?" Shyarly asked, gaze never leaving his face.
"Ancient Weapon, Poseidon. Sea King princess," White Ghost said, stirring his coffee. "Not exactly a small thing."
Hearing that, Shyarly finally let out a slow breath she'd been holding.
"So my guess was right," she said. "You either have some way of seeing beyond the present… or you're someone out of step with this era."
"You're not worried I'll silence you?" White Ghost tilted his head.
"If you wanted to, you'd have done it already," Shyarly replied calmly. "Either that, or you don't care if one more person knows."
White Ghost nodded.
That was the truth. Kuro, Ain, and the others all knew—or at least suspected—a little. None of them talked.
Shyarly drew on her pipe again, then exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke.
"In my divination," she said softly, "I saw Fishman Island's future… destroyed by a man wearing a straw hat. Is that really what happens?"
White Ghost shook his head.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I only know parts of that story—and a lot of it is guesswork. I don't know if he truly 'destroys' Fishman Island… or if there's more to it."
"Do you have a way to change it?" she pressed.
"I've already started, haven't I?" White Ghost glanced out the window at the busy streets, the merchants, the children racing between stalls.
"All of this—trade routes, protection, new systems—this is groundwork.
"Once I finish traveling the world, I'll move into the New World for real. If I go now, the three Emperors will dog-pile me. I'm confident I can break out…
"But my people? Not yet. They'd get wiped out."
Shyarly followed his gaze.
"So you do have a plan," she said quietly.
White Ghost nodded.
"I'll take what I need from this era," he said. "Raise my crew's strength. Once the balance in the New World stabilizes and the Four Emperors are set… pushing in will be much easier."
"Four Emperors, huh?" Shyarly asked. "Who?"
White Ghost smiled.
"Take a guess."
"What am I supposed to guess?" she said, a little annoyed.
She set her pipe aside, reached into her clothes, and pulled out a small box.
"Fishman Island doesn't have much to offer you," she said. "I know you don't care about our combat strength right now. So… take this instead."
She slid the box across the table.
White Ghost narrowed his eyes.
"…That wouldn't happen to be that thing, would it?"
"This washed up on Mermaid Cove," Shyarly said. "I found it about a year ago. I knew it was a Devil Fruit, but not what kind. I've held onto it since.
"I thought… it might be something you could use."
White Ghost opened the box.
Silence settled between them.
He stared at the fruit for a long time, then lifted his eyes back to her.
"I'm suddenly very curious about this 'fate' you keep talking about," he said slowly, picking the fruit up. "And Fishman Island's so-called 'luck.'"
"Oh?" Shyarly smiled faintly. "So it is something incredible."
White Ghost turned the fruit in his hand.
"Incredible is one word," he said. "If you took this topside, half the world would lose its mind."
"So what is it?" Shyarly leaned forward unconsciously. "What kind of power?"
Her perfume was light—clean, not cloying. Up close, he could see the faint scales along the edges of her cheeks, the clear blue of her eyes.
White Ghost caught himself staring and cleared his throat.
"Ever heard of the legendary pirate Shiki the Golden Lion?" he asked.
"Of course," Shyarly nodded. "A famous pirate of the old era, rival to the Pirate King—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
"You're not saying this is—"
White Ghost smiled.
"Paramecia-type, Float-Float Fruit," he said. "The one Shiki used.
"If the Marines get it, they can build an airborne fleet and rain justice from the sky.
"If a pirate crew gets it, the Marines will be the ones with headaches again.
"But right now…"
He twirled the fruit between his fingers.
"It's in my hands. So I have to wonder—should the pirates be worrying… or should the Marines be nervous?"
Shyarly let out a low whistle.
"Sounds like I just did you an enormous favor," she said. "In that case… you're not going to abandon Fishman Island in the future, are you?"
This time she leaned in on purpose, expression serious rather than teasing.
Their faces were only an arm's length apart.
White Ghost exhaled slowly through his nose and reached out, steadying her lightly by the arm so she didn't drift away.
Shyarly's cheeks colored, but she didn't pull back. Her shark tail flicked quietly behind her.
"Well?" she asked. "What do you think… human?"
"You've given me a ridiculous gift," he said. "And on top of that, you've put your own name on the line—openly tying Fishman Island's future to mine.
"All so that one day, I won't cast this place aside.
"Is it worth it?"
Their foreheads almost touched.
Shyarly's voice dropped to a murmur.
"As long as it's for Fishman Island," she said, "there's nothing I'm not willing to give up."
Her heart hammered in her chest. For a moment she remembered that first time she'd seen him—dragon form tearing through the battlefield, a pressure so heavy it made her chest tighten.
She'd told herself then it was just fear.
Now, sitting this close, she wasn't sure.
"And…" she added, so softly he almost missed it, "…it's not only for Fishman Island."
White Ghost blinked.
He could have turned it into a joke. Changed the subject. Pushed it away.
Instead, he reached up and gently touched his forehead to hers.
"Alright," he said. "Then I'll answer properly too."
His voice was quiet, free of its usual joking edge.
"As long as you don't betray me… I won't abandon this island.
"I'll take my own territory in the New World. When that happens, Fishman Island will have a place on the surface—under my protection."
Shyarly closed her eyes for a moment, shoulders relaxing as if a weight had lifted.
"…Good," she said.
They stayed like that for a while, neither speaking—just sharing the quiet, with the muffled sounds of the café drifting up from below.
Eventually, Shyarly eased back, composed herself, and picked up her pipe again.
"You're different from the humans I've seen before," she said lightly, as if to smooth over the moment. "Still an idiot sometimes… but different."
White Ghost chuckled.
"High praise, coming from you."
He set the Float-Float Fruit back into the box and closed the lid.
"Thank you, Shyarly."
"Just don't make me regret it," she replied.
—
By the time they left the private room, the sky beyond the bubble was already dimming. The Mermaid Café had closed; the mermaid hostesses had finished cleaning up and gone home, cheeks still faintly pink from whatever they imagined had happened upstairs.
White Ghost stood in the street outside, looking up at the faint glow filtering down from the surface.
The restless, swelling pride that had been building in his chest since defeating Kaido…
…had quietly settled.
So it's not just about swinging a sword harder, he thought. It's about remembering why I'm doing any of this in the first place.
He glanced back once through the café's window.
Shyarly was inside, giving instructions to the remaining staff, already back to her usual cool, distant demeanor—as if the conversation earlier had never happened.
He smiled to himself, spread his wings, and took off into the water-filled sky of Fishman Island.
Tomorrow, he'd head back to Sabaody.
Then, step by step, toward the future he'd chosen.
And this time, he reminded himself, he'd walk it with his eyes open.
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